More on my fiction writing

March 29, 2018

When a light goes out

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” — John Steinbeck

I was baptized in Central Methodist Church, so many decades ago. I remember Sunday school, attending services with my mother and grandmother. My mother had a glorious contralto and, a child prodigy trained as a concert pianist, sometimes played the immense pipe organ, with its 4 divisions, 28 stops, and 41 registers. In the 1960s, it was common for each service to see a thousand people or more, filling the sanctuary and its three balconies. Central was a prime posting for veteran ministers — only doctors of divinity reached the senior rank — and the choir was superb. I was confirmed there, age 13.

When I returned to Phoenix in 2000, I started attending Central again, this time with Susan. Getting a hundred people in the pews was a victory by that time. The quality of preaching was uneven, as individual ministers came and went (long gone from the days of a senior minister and others). But the music program was very strong under Don Morse. The core, including the corps of ushers, was committed. Important for us, Central still offered a traditional service, with the wonderful Methodist hymns. Christmas Eve could see five services in the soaring sanctuary, with luminarias in the courtyard. We continue to attend. When I lived in Charlotte, people would ask me if I had found "a church home." No — in that hotbed of religion, the question irritated the secular me. "I have a bar home," I would respond. But the truth was different. My church was here. It always was. Always will be.

But this year brought heartbreaking news. First, the music program was downgraded, with Morse and seemingly most of the choir gone. Finances were an issue; the church and Morse, who had already taken a pay freeze/cut, couldn't come to terms. But respect also seemed an issue, the lay leaders wanting to downgrade his position to "choirmaster." A botched remodel of the sanctuary was probably another cause, including the loss of the pipe organ and removal of two of the balconies. I don't claim special insight. I spent many years in United Methodist choirs, but tried to avoid church politics whenever possible. Next came word that the sanctuary would only be used for special occasions. A traditional service would be held in the small Pioneer Chapel and a contemporary one in Kendall Hall.

It's no news that the mainline Protestant churches are dying, quite literally as members pass away. At Central, the old ushers who once wielded great power and did so much more than hand out bulletins, died off. The United Methodist Church stood at nearly 10.7 million members in the United States in 1968 when the Methodist Church merged with the Evangelical United Brethren. Today it's less than 7 million, even as the U.S. population has increased by more than one-third. A story in the Washington Post last year said if the mainline churches don't stem the decline, they have only 23 Easters left.

Another big problem is the loss of potential members to fundamentalist megachurches with their “praise bands,” "family life centers," and right-wing politics. The mainline churches are largely liberal. The United Methodist Church was among the first to ordain women. Although not official policy, LGBTQ people are welcome. All are welcome at the Methodist communion table. This was a natural evolution. We were "the happy Methodists" when I was a child. People of other faiths were called "our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters" or "our Jewish brothers and sisters." All were saved. Saint Paul said, imagining when we gathered before God, "For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face." It’s one of the most arresting lines in the Bible.

Central Methodist is the oldest Protestant church in Phoenix, founded in 1872. An adobe structure was followed by a brick church at Central and Monroe. In 1926, the church moved a few blocks north, to a handsome building at Pierce Street. It completed its present home in 1950. First Methodist Episcopal Church (or "First Church" under the conference's faddy new "branding") was established in 1881, and for a time was a block west on Monroe in the dense little city.

Central, although overshadowed by wealthy First Methodist at Missouri, is the "Mother of Methodism" in the Salt River Valley (and, along with a church in Prescott, in Arizona). Among the churches it seeded were Bethel, CrossRoads, Calvary, and Paradise Valley United Methodist, where I sang in the choir during high school. It founded Deaconess Hospital (the future Good Samaritan) and the United Methodist Outreach Ministries (UMOM), which continues to be an important social service provider. Bethel is now gone.

The Methodist Episcopal Church, South, founded Central. This was the Southern branch of the church split in the years before the Civil War. The Northern and Southern churches reunited in 1939. But in the 1960s, our senior minister Kermit Long joined Martin Luther King Jr. in a south Phoenix march. The leader of one of the largest and most establishment white churches in the city being there, arm-in-arm with King, was a thunderclap over this Southern and Western city. For weeks, right-wingers protested outside the church on Sunday mornings. But Long's move helped propel Phoenix toward more justice and tolerance. Central and its heavyweight membership carried great influence.

When I was a child, we walked to church when my grandmother's knees would allow it. Although people came there from throughout the city, Central was very embedded in the neighborhood. When I came back in this increasingly alien new century, hardly anyone in the pews lived in the nearby historic districts. Many drove in from north Scottsdale. Not a few believed a crime-ridden inner city lurked beyond the front doors, instead of some of the Southwest’s most desirable neighborhoods.

For awhile, invited by my friend Buzz Stevens, retired senior minister at First Methodist, I worked on a project with Claremont School of Theology. The goal was to establish a mid-career program for people who wanted theological training even if they didn't intend to become ordained. It didn't go anywhere at the time, but it put me in the company of bishops, distinguished theological professors, and ministers. I got a belly full of church politics. I could never persuade anyone that Central should be working to gain membership from the historic districts. Relative prosperity didn't mean a lack of needing the Gospel, quite the opposite. Aside from David Weber, who was minister at Central for a few years in the 2000s, the worthy divines looked at me as if I had grown a third eye.

Maybe this is changing with the ASU student population. I'm told Central's "Jesus, Java, and Jazz" non-traditional service is popular. But I want the great hymns, the prayer of forgiveness, the Apostles Creed, traditional communion — that sense I am worshipping with some continuity going back to my forebears, some rock in this world of hyperspeed fads. But the day they announced Morse's departure, as I was talking with a choir member who is a friend (a Gen-Xer), Jennifer said, "There's no place like that for people like us in today's Methodist Church." In the Western states, at least, I suspect she's right. A prominent Methodist minister in Seattle urged us to "cut the liturgical string." In other words, get hip. But I don't want hip. My soul thirsts for what he dismissively called the liturgical string.

Writing this on the run-up to Good Friday, I am mindful of the desolation that the disciples felt when they saw Jesus crucified. The women who visited the tomb, finding it empty, the heavy stone pulled aside, and the burial shroud neatly folded. Then they encountered the "gardener," who asked why they were weeping? And then they realized it was Him. Christians live in joyful anticipation. But the news of Central is a stone around my heart and I fear for the other stones that might drop. For Phoenix, it is an incalculable loss.

Central Methodist Church — Gallery:

Central ME Church, South, on the southwest corner of Center and Monroe in 1904.

This 1921 page from the Arizona Republican shows Central services at the bottom left before being cut off by the fold (click for larger image).

A postcard view of the church.

Central Methodist Church in its Pierce Street home, 1940s.

The pipe organ, choir loft, and stained-glass window in the sanctuary of the "new" Central Methodist, finished in 1950.

A south-facing view of the church and oasis city, and appropriately named Palm Lane, in the 1960s.

Comments

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There's a marked difference between old religious congregations and the new ones that pop up on the growth edge of the metroplex. The former are organic, the latter intentional. One is as beautiful as an antique, the other as soulless as a new car.

If you drive up Central a few miles, you can find one of the original megachurches in Phoenix, North Phoenix Baptist. It was designed by the noted Ralph Haver and took the place of a glorious estate at Bethany Home Rd. It's a huge eyesore of a God complex but it met all the lifestyle needs of modern Phoenix. There were clubs for singles, hikers, bowlers, and teenagers. It had a huge congregation back in the 1970s, over 10,000. Today, it hovers at around 3,000. Even in the realm of the eternal, demographics drive market share.

I don't blame anyone for finding spiritual refuge in tradition and beauty. If I could find a way to reconcile my brain with my heart, I might go there myself. But you can't put new wine in old wineskins without injuring truth itself. I mourn all our losses, particularly the planet's biosphere we're irreparably damaging. Right now, the blessings we need to count rest less on faith and more on conscious and deliberate action.

Soleri-If Paul and the Apostles had thought about the "right now" we would never have had a Christian faith.They were all crucified or killed for their beliefs and teachings.While I agree with most of your post,the "right now" part is what the new churches you denegrate is using to attract new converts, unfortunately.

I grieve for Jon and many others that share his beliefs that were shaped by old time religious services. I identify with these quotes from Jon’s piece.

“My mother had a glorious contralto and, a child prodigy trained as a concert pianist, sometimes played the immense pipe organ, with its 4 divisions, 28 stops, and 41 registers. In the 1960s, it was common for each service to see a thousand people or more, filling the sanctuary and its three balconies. Central was a prime posting for veteran ministers — only doctors of divinity reached the senior rank — and the choir was superb. I was confirmed there, age 13.
But the music program was very strong under Don Morse. The core, including the corps of ushers, was committed. Important for us, Central still offered a traditional service, with the wonderful Methodist hymns. Christmas Eve could see five services in the soaring sanctuary, with luminarias in the courtyard. Central Methodist is the oldest Protestant church in Phoenix, founded in 1872. An adobe structure was followed by a brick church at Central and Monroe. In 1926, the church moved a few blocks north, to a handsome building at Pierce Street. It completed its present home in 1950.
Central, although overshadowed by wealthy First Methodist at Missouri, is the "Mother of Methodism" in the Salt River Valley (and, along with a church in Prescott, in Arizona). Among the churches it seeded were Bethel, CrossRoads, Calvary, and Paradise Valley United Methodist, where I sang in the choir during high school. It founded Deaconess Hospital, the future Good Samaritan, and the United Methodist Outreach Ministries (UMOM), an important social service provider. Bethel is now gone.
When I was a child, we walked to church when my grandmother's knees would allow it. Although people came there from throughout the city, Central was very embedded in the neighborhood. I'm told Central's "Jesus, Java, and Jazz" non-traditional service is popular. But I want the great hymns, the prayer of forgiveness, the Apostles Creed, traditional communion — that sense I am worshipping with some continuity going back to my forebears, some rock in this world of hyperspeed fads. But I don't want hip. My soul thirsts for what he dismissively called the liturgical string. But the news of Central is a stone around my heart and I fear for the other stones that might drop. For Phoenix, it is an incalculable loss. ”

Some of my best but also some of my worst memories are tied to Methodist, Baptist, Presbyterian and Catholic churches both rural and in towns. I was baptized three times before I was 15.Tent Evangelists were strong when I was a child in Iowa. A number of times after the tents came down and left, local women, children and money went missing.

Regarding the Baptist Church at Central and Missouri, it seemed more evangelistic than the traditional churches I attended. I was curious about its origin and if it originated from a small town in Texas and if it might have something in common with “The Baptist Foundation” as exposed by Reporter Terry Greene Stewart.

Last year I attended a Catholic Mass in Spanish by a priest, that appeared to be of German origin, in the little Yaqui Community of Guadalupe after attending a Yaqui ceremony.

The best time I ever had In a Church was at the Black Southern Baptist Church in Vicksburg , Mississippi on Mens day in 1996 while Walking across America.

I still enjoy good church music and a rousing sermon.

However I will note that I converted at 14 and at 77 still practice atheism.

On this Easter Day, we still see thru that glass darkly, but with faith, expect to see the face of God someday - at least, I do.
Thanks for your memoir, Jon. My natal church is long gone, but lives in my heart.

This is a wonderful story, Jon. And while it's a cliche, it remains true that the church always resides with the people and it moves around like the wind, not resting with the building or with the congregations that have faded. In a separate thought, I wonder what the right-wingers of today really would have thought of MLK before he was a face safely on a plaque, back when he was dangerous to the prosperous order. Or for that matter, what would they have thought of Jesus? What would WE think of him?

As a lad in the early ‘60s, I often attended Central United with my grandma, who lived near Portland and 7th Ave. sometimes we would walk to church, taking a shortcut across the campus of Kenilworth School, and past a synagogue on 3rd Ave where one of her friends worshipped. The neighborhood, of course, has been obliterated in the name of “progress,” for a freeway.

I used to attend Central, mainly for its singles' program (a very modern idea) and its children's program (I was a single mom). Rev. Henshaw was the minister in those days, and I loved his sermons. That church kept me grounded while I was going through some difficult times, and I will always be grateful.

"United Methodist Church, we trace our roots to John Wesley, an eighteenth century Anglican priest who found a way to blend his traditional high church Anglicanism with an evangelical faith and a warm heart. We stand firmly in this tradition.

The First Church story begins with a series of missionaries sent from California with the goal of starting a Methodist Episcopal Church in the tiny village of Phoenix. The first worship services were held in 1881 in a community meeting place, the local brush arbor. They soon built their first building, a 20 x 40 foot one-room adobe meeting house.

Jon, thank you for the very sensitive retrospective of Central.
I'm sure you know how far the influence of its music and ministry extended. It accomplished some great things like the South Phoenix march with Dr. King, and many, many small great things. I went to West High at 19th Ave and Thomas (with Gwen Ragsdale, by the way). I remember how excited several of the West High choir members who were also regulars at Central were because of the several ranks that were being added to the organ at the time. The choir was performing the Hayden Lord Nelson mass in celebration. The whole of Phoenix knew Central Methodist Church.

Years later I joined the Central Methodist choir while Don Morse was there. You might remember me. After you returned to Phoenix, I sang the Tallis "If you love me" or the Lutkin sevenfold Amen, or some other piece by Rutter, et al, to you and Susan from the cross aisle every Sunday we were there. Often I stood directly in front of you. I hope I held the pitch. Such wonderful music, and such good memories. It's heartbreaking that it's gone.

For those of us at Central, the choir and the congregation, music was a gateway to understanding Christ's message. Five centuries of great music puts one in touch with the souls that have gone before. Despite the wars, and hate and bigotry and meanness and selfishness of the world, the message came through in the music. That music is something we need desperately right now.

soleri, thanks for your observations about the "brain eating prion" that says one can't be happy unless others are miserable. I just wonder if the indifference and lack of compassion so many have for their fellow man isn't related to their greed for more, more, more.

I agree with you that these perpetually unhappy people haven't figured out that true happiness comes from within--and that no amount of outside accoutrements (money, property, or other physical possessions) or power will ever be enough.

I think when one learns that true contentment comes from being in touch with one's inner self, and not chasing after what's outside ourselves, they have a chance to experience the kind of deep satisfaction that material things can't get. To get to that "nirvana," one must keep the greed for more under strict control.

That, however, is heresy in a capitalistic society where one is taught that "success" is measured by what one possesses--and not how one feels from the inside.

I am a sucker for pipe organs, and while I enjoy contemporary Christian worship music, I do miss the sound of a grand organ; due to their great cost, they are quite rare in newer churches.

I also enjoy even older forms of musical worship, such as Gregorian chants and unaccompanied singing.

My church recently celebrated 35 years, so although it is much newer than Central, it was still interesting to see all the history talked about.

Of course, a church is a fellowship of believers, not the building in which it meets, but yet we all develop strong attachments to these important places in our lives, just like the old schoolhouse or our childhood home.

And for those church buildings which have decayed or been torn down or sold and developed into bars and restaurants or lofts, it is hoped that memories of their purpose and fellowship live on in the hearts of those who once worshiped there.

I will leave you all with some lovely Scripture about singing worship songs.

"Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God." --Colossians 3:16

thankyou jon;
I attended a mainline down town Methodist church in Rockford, Illinois whose history parallels Central: the spiritual stability, predictability and challenge through the sacred word and glorious music. I moved to Phoenix two years ago and discovered Central. I also realized the decline Central was going through. With the loss of the traditional worship service and elimination of the glorious, inspiring choir I drifted from
Central. As I grieved for the my home town church I grieve with those loyal members of Central whose inner core of their lives have been shaken. Thanks be to God for all we have been given through our worship experiences with traditional "old time Methodism".